


sure.

by stormpilots



Category: Guardians of the Whills - Fandom, Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blind Character, Chirrut Îmwe is a Little Shit, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-11 23:24:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11724753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stormpilots/pseuds/stormpilots





	sure.

You’re not sure when this started, when you started spending most of your nights in the apartment of one Chirrut Îmwe, or when the sound of your footsteps became so familiar to him that he knew before you announced yourself. You’re not sure when it became so normal that he would allow you to let yourself in (it was far easier for Chirrut, you reason to yourself sometimes, he mustn’t have enjoyed having to feel along the wall to the door to allow you in, that must have been why he gave you a key in the first place), or when you started making tea for yourself and him every time you visited. You’re not sure when he started resting his head on your shoulder when you sat down beside him, or when you started hoisting him into your lap so you could hold him to your chest.

But you are sure of some things. Maybe you aren’t sure of when you started falling for him; you’re sure of the fact that you fell hard. You’re sure that despite how frustrating it is, you love all the stupid little jokes he loves to make. You’re sure that you think he’s just as funny as he does, and you’re sure that you’re never going to admit it, despite being sure that he already knows. You’re sure that he knows you better than anybody, the same way you’re sure that you know him better than anybody. You’re sure that despite the fact that you’ve loved before, you’ve never loved like you love him, and that you never will again. You’re sure that nobody has ever fitted in your arms as well as he does, and you’re sure that his small hands were made for you to hold in your own. There’s so much you’re still unsure of, but what you are sure of is that if it’s possible for two people to be made for each other, then Chirrut Îmwe was most definitely made for you, and you for him.

You turn your head down to look at him, his head rested against your chest (he likes to listen to the sound of your heart beating), and as if he can feel even that small movement—which he most likely can—he lifts his own head, milky white, unseeing eyes opening. If you didn’t know better, you might think he was looking into your soul. Of course, he can’t even look into your face. He never has seen you, you think to yourself, and you wonder briefly if there was ever a time when he could see. After a few moments of silence, with you simply staring at him, he clears his throat.

“I can feel you staring at me,” he tells you, as if you didn’t know that he always seemed to be able to tell when your eyes are on him, “I would return the favour, but alas,” he points towards his eyes, as if to explain that it’s his blindness keeping him from being able to stare back at you.

“Chirrut Îmwe, I have known you longer than I can even remember,” you reply, “I know by now that you’re blind.”

He gives you a look of mock surprise, “Really? Goodness, Baze Malbus, you truly are an observant person.”

“Well, one of us has to be, and you can’t exactly observe anything.”

“Was that a joke I just heard?”

“It might have been.”

“The nerve! You’re joking about a crippling disability, you know.”

“Oh yes, because you truly are the perfect example of someone crippled by his lack of sight.”

“Don’t tease,” he murmured, a note of amusement in his voice as his hands crept up your chest and neck, coming to rest either side of your face, “it’s mean.”

You roll your eyes, although he can’t see the action, as your hands find their way to his hips, and the corners of his lips turn up in a small smile. You love that little smile of his, and the way you swear you can see it reflected in those blank eyes of his. You often swear you see far more than there is in his eyes, and he loves to tease you for it. He simply loves to tease you, really, and you don’t mind it at all. In fact, you find it quite an endearing trait, even if it is annoying as all hell sometimes. It suits him perfectly.

“If either of us is mean, I think you'll find that it's you.”

“Rude! I am not mean,” he huffs, his hands leaving your cheeks as he folds his arms. You can still feel the warmth of his hands on your face.

“Oh, of course. Do excuse me. You're positively saintlike, aren't you?”

“Yes,” he nods, his voice sounding similar to that of a sulking child.

Despite yourself, you laugh, and he breaks out in a wide grin, clearly having gotten the reaction that he was looking for from you. You find yourself grinning as well, unable to keep yourself under control when faced with the sight of such a smile on a face you’ve come to love so much. After a moment, he lays his head back down on your chest, sighing softly.

“You're such a child.”

“Then what does that make you?”

You pause, taking a second to realise what he means. You feel your cheeks heat up, and shove him lightly, so he lifts his head again, laughing at your reaction.

“ _Chirrut_ , you can’t say things like that!”

“Why not? You thought it was funny.”

“No I didn't.”

“Yes you did. You always think I’m funny.”

“That doesn’t make it okay!”

“Ooh, what's the worst that'll happen? I'll hardly get in trouble,” he rolls his eyes, “who's seriously going to get upset about a joke I made while in the company of my boyfriend?”

He did that on purpose, you know he did. He loves to do that, loves to call you his boyfriend just to get a reaction out of you. It's stupid and you know it, but your heart still races when he says the word, and you can tell from the smile on his face that he can feel it. Silently, you curse his ability to get any reaction he wants out of you just with a few words that to anybody else would sound perfectly innocent. You aren't the most emotive man in the world, and there's hardly anything that can cause you to react in certain ways, but he can fluster you so much more easy than any one person should be able to do, and you're convinced that that's too much power for any one man to have.

“Are you all right there, Baze?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m fine,” you mumble irritably, “why are you like this?”

“Like what?” he asks, feigning innocence.

“You know what,” you insist, huffing, “you're able to do that thing where you twist literally everything into something that can annoy me.”

“I have no idea what you're talking about,” he says with a shrug, keeping up that infuriating play of innocence.

You huff, reduced to childish sulking far too quickly, “I hate you, you know that?” You don’t. And he knows that you don't. You can see that in the look on his face.

“I love you too,” he says quietly, his hands wandering up again until they find your lips, so that he knows where to aim as he leans in to kiss you.

You smile against his lips as he shifts to make kissing you easier, and you hold either side of his waist loosely to steady him. There are so many things that you most likely will never be sure of, but you don’t mind that. Because even though you aren’t sure how you came to be the one kissing him, you're sure that there won’t be anybody else.  



End file.
